


The Monster Beneath

by BrilliantLady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Dark Harry, Death Eaters, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Legilimency, Minor Character Death, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8981044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantLady/pseuds/BrilliantLady
Summary: Harry went alone to the Department of Mysteries. He expected to find Sirius a prisoner there… he hadn’t expected the Death Eaters to have other hostages.





	

“We can’t all go! I don’t have time to argue about it, don’t you understand? Voldemort has Sirius! I have to save him!”

“We’ll go with you, Harry!” Hermione pleaded, and Ron nodded his fervent agreement. “Two might not be enough for all of us, but we’ll find more Thestrals.”

But he couldn’t bear it if his friends died on his mad quest. “No, this is something I have to do on my own,” said Harry. He swiftly leapt onto the nearest Thestral, and sent the other one galloping away with a stinging hex to its flank.

They couldn’t even _find_ any other Thestrals after he’d flown off, though they looked for ages. Luna being the only one who could see them didn’t help there, of course. Harry was on his own.

-000-

In the Department of Mysteries with the prophecy globe in hand, Harry ran for it, and hid. Crouched in a tiny space behind a desk, he was difficult for the frustrated Death Eaters to find. He summoned Dobby with a whispered hiss of his name, and the excitable little house-elf took the prophecy globe from him and popped away to hide it under Harry’s instructions. He apologised that he couldn’t take Harry himself (muttering something about wards), but promised to raise the alarm and fetch help.

Eventually, they resorted to luring him out.

“Come out, wee Potter!” sang Bellatrix Lestrange. “We have someone you’d miss dearly – you wouldn’t want to be all alone in the world with no-one to look after you now, would you?”

The grunt of masculine pain and the high pitched laughter of Bellatrix coaxed him out of hiding. He had to save Sirius.

Harry crept out of his hiding space and into the main round foyer. “Let him go!” yelled Harry, “I’ve hidden the prophecy, and unless you leave Sirius… alone…”

But it wasn’t Sirius Black they were talking about and threatening, it was Vernon Dursley. Harry’s jaw dropped open in shock. Bellatrix had a wand in one hand, and a knife in the other pressed tight against Vernon’s flabby throat, as he swallowed convulsively and tried to stay very, very still. Lucius Malfoy had Petunia standing frozen in front of him, forced into immobility by a spell. The frantic movements of her eyes the only clue that she was still alive and conscious. Dudley was unconscious and drooling on the floor like a fat sleeping baby fur seal oblivious of the danger of the hunters around him.

“The prophecy, boy,” said Malfoy, in smooth threatening tones. “Hand it over!”

“Or we hurt them and kill them and then you’ll have no family left at all!” giggled Bellatrix.

“Where’s Sirius?” demanded Harry, looking around. He saw Bellatrix, Malfoy, and a couple of others he didn’t recognise (especially since they had those white masks on). Too many to fight, but the odds could be worse.

“Sadly holed up and out of our reach. But your family was unwise enough to enjoy a night out in London away from the wards around your home, where Yaxley was lucky enough to spot them,” Malfoy explained. “Hand over the globe.”

Deep relief welled up in him guiltily at their admission of trickery. Now he had little to fear – Sirius was safe. He wasn’t even here. “I don’t have it. I hid it. If you want it, you need to keep me alive,” Harry said with nervous courage.

“You’ll hand it over or tell us where it is, or your uncle dies,” Bellatrix threatened.

Harry stared at Uncle Vernon. Uncle Vernon stared back at him, his face starting to purple with rage as he guessed what was going through the boy’s head.

“You give them whatever it is they want right now, boy!” he yelled, then whimpered in pain as Bellatrix’s knife accidentally drew a thin line of blood from his wobbling chin.

“Yeah, about that… I really can’t do that, you see,” Harry said, sounding vaguely apologetic.

“We will kill your family if you do not hand over the prophecy…” Malfoy said very slowly, as if explaining it to someone who was a bit slow.

“I got that, thanks. You don’t have to talk to me like I’m your son, I’m smarter than that.”

A muttered spell from Malfoy was his response to Harry’s smart mouth, and Aunt Petunia let out a thin whine of pain through her frozen mouth, as blood leaked out of her nose and her eyes rolled about in her head. “And now, do you grasp the gravity of the situation now?”

“Got it the first time. What you’re not grasping is that I’ve hidden the prophecy so you can’t find it, and if you don’t want your Master _very_ disappointed you’ll have to let me go, and try to get it another day.” He hoped they wouldn’t try and torture the information out of him. It’d be better than being killed. If he could just stall them long enough, help would arrive.

“Just kill the brat, Lucius,” grunted one of the men in masks.

“No! Only the Dark Lord is allowed!” shrieked Bellatrix. “He made us swear!”

“Search the room he was in,” ordered Malfoy. “Find that prophecy orb.” One of the presumably lower-ranked Death Eaters scurried off to do his bidding.

“Nothing, it’s not there!” the man reported back after some hunting around.

“Torture it is then, starting with his lovely aunt.”

Harry watched wordlessly as pustules spread across her face and burst with acidic goo, as the Cruciatus Curse made her writhe in agony, and a finger was severed with a cruel use of the Severing Charm. He kept watching, wand pointed warily but without casting spells in attack, as Uncle Vernon’s face was criss-crossed with knife cuts, and his arms seared with fire, leaving blisters and burnt black skin. They just needed time.

When he seemed too unmoved, they moved onto him. A couple of spells exchanged, and he was swiftly disarmed – too outnumbered to put up much of a fight. The Cruciatus on himself didn’t unlock his lips either. He’d felt it before, and stronger that Malfoy could manage. Eventually they trussed him up like a spider’s dinner in conjured ropes, and waited for the Dark Lord. He was surprisingly too tough a nut to crack, with Bellatrix forbidden from doing anything permanently injuring to him and wary of displeasing her Lord.

-000-

Lord Voldemort’s nose-less, red-eyed face was unpleasant to look at, but it was his words, not his face, that Harry feared the most.

He conferred with his followers about Harry’s reticence to hand over the prophecy and his unexpected lack of reaction to his family being threatened, cutting right to the heart of what he saw the problem as. “Perhaps he merely considers them to be hollow threats, Lucius. An example should be most efficacious, I think.”

He pointed his wand at Uncle Vernon, and the tip glowed a sickly green. “ _Avada Kedavra_.”

Uncle Vernon screamed very briefly, then his body slumped to the ground, lifeless. Aunt Petunia’s shrieks rang out loudly, cursing Voldemort, cursing Harry.

“You worthless little waste of space! Your horrible freak! How could you let that monster kill my poor Vernon! You give them what they want, and make them let us go! We took you in, we raised you, and this is how you repay us? You save my poor little Dudders! You save me right now!”

Lord Voldemort smiled macabrely, lipless mouth stretched wide in amusement over yellowed teeth. “Silence now, Muggle scum.” He waved his wand lazily in her direction, and with a presumably wordless _Silencio_ , her mouth opened and closed like an angry goldfish – wordless gaping as she tried and failed to yell more abuse and orders.

“And what now, Harry? Shall I kill the rest of your beloved – if worthless – Muggle family? Or will you give me the prophecy? What do you think?” His stare was piercing, dark red eyes gazing deep into Harry’s. The look was different but the feeling was familiar – it was like one of Dumbledore’s knowing twinkling looks, or Snape’s harsh glare. Legilimency. Questions dug into his mind like razor sharp knives, leaving him writhing in his bonds as his head filled with pain. Worse even than one of Snape’s worst “remedial Potions” lessons. He wanted to close his eyes, but his gaze was locked onto Lord Voldemort’s, and he found he couldn’t physically look away.

_Did your uncle’s death frighten you, make you malleable?_

_No._ Harry’s mind whirled as he futilely tried to clear his mind. Snape was a rubbish teacher. Maybe he _wanted_ Harry to fail at learning Occlumency. _I’m glad he’s dead. I only wish he’d suffered more._

A hesitation, then another question.

_Which of your family should I threaten to kill next, to make you hand over the prophecy orb?_

Harry fought, trying to hide the truth. But Lord Voldemort’s mind dredged it up from the depths. _Sirius Black_. _I’d give up the orb for him in a heartbeat. Stupid prophecy. Divination is rubbish anyway._

_He’s not even family! What of these Muggle relatives of yours then, don’t you care for them?_

_He’s my godfather, he cares for me. The Dursleys never did. I don’t care for them – I hate them. They kept me in a…_ He struggles. Tries to calm his mind, hide his shame. The Dark Lord, curious, dredges memories to the surface. A cupboard for a bedroom. Endless back-breaking labour that’s never good enough to satisfy. Burnt hands in the kitchen, and orders to get back to work. Sunburn blistering his back in the garden until the skin peels off like wafer-thin paper, flesh red and raw underneath and oh so painful when struck. The sneers and the insults, the long days locked in his cupboard for doing something “freakish” – _magic –_ like talking with the snake in the zoo. The rags for clothes, the bars on the window in his room, and the catflap in his door to deliver the pitiful ration of food that he shared with his owl, the only living creature in the house he truly cared for.

_A room? What happened to the cupboard?_

His first Hogwarts letter, _Mr H. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs_ , snatched from his hand with an angry sneer. Their terrified grey faces. _“You don’t think they’re watching the house?”_ A room then, but gifted out of fear, not love. But they never were watching, or they didn’t care. Hatred-love-hatred- _resentment_ for the wizards who rescued him, but who left him there so long. Mrs Figg, the Squib, who knew what went on and never, ever stopped it, never said a word about magic all those long, hard years. The guards (jailors) around his house (prison, with the bars on the window and the locks on his door), making sure the Death Eaters can’t get in (or that he doesn’t leave, no summer with Sirius, not for him). Dumbledore knows. Dumbledore doesn’t know. Best not to know the truth of that (he would hate him so if he knows, he has to know, how could he not know, he always sends him back there even with Cedric dead dead dead and lying so still).

_You hate the Muggles, and rightly so – are there none you care for? Why do you fight me? You should join me._

_You want me dead. You killed my parents. You tried to kill me again._ Simple reasons - they’re more than enough. Good reasons. Not fighting for Muggles. _I’ve never met a Muggle I liked, who cares about them except for the fact that murder is wrong. I wish I could stay in the wizarding world always and forever,_ _the Dursleys and their neighbours would burn me at a stake if they thought they could get away with it_.

_What shall I do with your aunt, then? Do you want to kill her for her mistreatment of you?_

_No._ At the surface, as convincing as he could make it. _Let her go, she’s worthless as a hostage._ Claws in his mind, stirring up the dark depths. _If she lives, she’ll want me dead. Dumbledore will pat me on the head and send me back there._ He imagines it – a swung frying pan, this time not stopping when he ducks, swinging back again and hitting his flesh with a sizzle – and the _smell_ – like that time he burnt the bacon when he was eight, before he learnt to duck. Or locked in his room again, this time no water – they never check they just wait outside they don’t care stupid guards when the trouble is _inside_ the house not outside – dying of thirst within days. _“This is for Vernon you nasty little freak.”_ They always blamed him. Voldemort standing _right there_ right _now_ but she was glaring at _him_. If she was dead they’d let him live with Sirius – they’d have no choice.

_Your Muggle cousin, too?_

_Spare him_. Underneath the pitiful plea for mercy were not-so-hidden memories of fists, feet, spiteful eyes, lies, and more spoiled meals than he could count. Harry Hunting. Good riddance.

A Death Eater’s voice, off to one side where Harry couldn’t see, trapped by Voldemort’s unblinking eyes. “They’re coming, my Lord!” Doors barricaded with spells.

_Stand not against me, and I shall spare your godfather. Neither I nor my followers shall so much as harm him, or you. Will you honour a truce?_

_Agreed._ Needle-like thoughts digging for the truth in Harry’s mind – yes, yes he would. Unless Hermione or Ron were in danger.

“Let it not be said that Lord Voldemort cares not for the lives of wizards, or knows not the meaning of mercy,” hissed the Dark Lord aloud, turning his wand on his aunt.

“Don’t! Stop!” yelled Harry.

An incantation and a flash of green from the Dark Lord’s wand, and it was done. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, the hatred gone at last.

“There. More kindness than Dumbledore ever offered you, Harry. Now, kill the Muggle boy,” he said lazily to Bellatrix, who laughed with delight at the order.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” Another green beam of light, from Bellatrix this time, and Dudley was no more. All the Dursleys were dead, and all he felt was a guilty, quiet relief.

“We have no hostages now, my lord. Have you gotten the prophecy orb’s location from Potter? Is he to die next?” Malfoy asked with careful respect. “Dumbledore will be here soon.”

Startlement from the Dark Lord, his double-take visible. He’d forgotten. Distracted by hidden secrets. “Silence!” he hissed at his loyal follower for the effrontery of giving good advice.

The Dark Lord’s piercing gaze returned to Harry, who was trapped again by the garnet red eyes of his most obvious enemy.

_The prophecy orb?_

_Taken away by my friend the house-elf, Dobby. It’s hidden at Sirius’ house at %-*SD &G^%+(._

Angry claws piercing inside his mind. _Where?  
)(*9JH. (!* &^9@#. It’s under Fidelius! I can’t even think it! Safe from you there._ He’d never get it there. For what good that was.

“Useless. It’s not here. Under Fidelius elsewhere.”

“The boy?”

With a swish of dark robes, Voldemort turned his back on Harry. Harry’s eyes burned painfully, finally able to blink – a sweet tiny relief.

“Leave him. We have an understanding.”

Incredulous stare from Malfoy. “With his remaining family dead on the ground?”

“Even so. You will all leave the boy alone.”

Malfoy stared at Harry. Harry avoided his gaze. He had been ready to die for Sirius. He was certainly willing to let the Dursleys die to redeem him. He was willing to stand aside from the fight, given the chance. He never really cared about fighting Voldemort in the first place – he just didn’t want to die, didn’t want to lose anyone. He didn’t truly believe there was any way to win against someone now so powerful.

Rescue came not long after that, while Death Eaters ransacked the Department of Mysteries for treasures, preparing to leave. With Harry lying trussed up on the ground, disregarded. The Order of the Phoenix burst in at last. Beams of light and shields of stone, spells flying thick through the air as Dumbledore strode in bringing light, and battle, and pain.

Tonks rushed to Harry’s side, her spiky hair bubble-gum pink, and put up a shield around them both. “Three dead! Harry’s down but alive!”

“The Dursleys! He killed them all, he’s a monster!” sobbed Harry, burying his dry-eyed face in his hands.

The gentle arm around his shoulders for comfort brought only guilt.

Voldemort wasn’t the only monster in the room.


End file.
